


Just An Other Case Of Stephen Lunsford Being The Ultimate Slash Fanboy: Gallavich Edition

by Idealuk



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: BAMF Ian, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Romantic Fluff, happy death, possessive mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idealuk/pseuds/Idealuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some one on Tumblr said that Stephen Lunsford should be on Shameless because he and Justin Chatwin look alike (and he'd have a field day on it), I wrote a note about how Jimmy might react to Ian sleeping with his cousin, some one else suggested that some one write a fic about it, and this happened. Written in between the air-dates for 3.08 and 3.09 having seen the promo for 3.09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just An Other Case Of Stephen Lunsford Being The Ultimate Slash Fanboy: Gallavich Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Mandy was tried as an adult because she ran over a 'pretty' blonde girl and fled. Not BETA'd. Mistakes are mine.

When the teenaged drug dealer from Chicago had finished his cigarette outside of the prison, he tossed it with a stiff arm from the cold, and entered the building, thinking he thought he’d be in here before she ever was. He passed through the visitor’s process to sit beside the reason he has twice found himself on the wrong side of the kiddie bars and lean towards the tenuous device that they were holding.

“Are you actually going to bone your way through the whole family?,” Mandy prompted through the receiver, judgmentally glaring at Ian as Mickey’s sudden tenseness was ignored by his sister but not by Ian. Ian saw every thing.

_He didn’t fucking tell her, did he, and I thought that they nev—_

It didn’t phase her that them coming to visit her together shouldn’t make any sense to Mandy. After being sent to prison for doing a hit-and-run on Karen ‘The Skank’ Jackson, she was simply grateful that the only people whom she could ever truly depend on remained so, and were enough to be two.

“Fiona’s not going to like it if you fuck her boyfriend”. Mandy taunted the playful lecture in to the prison comm. phone with a meaningless know-it-all grin.

_Wait. What?!_

“It was just his cousin,” Ian groaned back, always down-playing his sexual experiences, except with …

_Who’s cousin?! And what does this have to do with Pretty-boy Fuckface?_

“And his father,” Mandy cooed, giggling in to the phone.

_Fuckface’s dad? … Cousin? … Ian fucked the pre-law bitch!_

Mickey jolted up, the chair he’d been sitting in screeched against the floor it slid back on, with the familiar fury in his eyes as they seared in to Ian whom rubbed his now-clenched brow with his free hand. “You fucked his cousin?!,” the boy whom all but one whom knew him feared screamed with more anger than he had lately, yet, unfortunately, he was directing it at that one person and Mandy was too perplexed to be frightened.

Ian was slow to look up at the young thug whom had stolen his heart shortly after stealing his former boss/fuck-puppet’s gun. “It was before you stopped me from leaving”. He felt bad that Mickey had gotten needlessly upset and had wanted to give him time to see that and calm down. It didn’t work.

_Why was it MICKEY whom got Ian to stay and not be a fucking idiot and die in the army?_

Mandy curved toward the dividing glass in attempt to pull answers from the other side. Being that Ian was still holding the phone in the air, and Mickey was just loud regardless, that did work.

“… It’s still only you,” Ian raised his hands in a gesture of reassurance as he stood up in front of Mickey, and he watched as Mickey’s shoulders dropped in resolution whilst that only darkened his eyes more. Ian knew what he was going to say next. After Mickey had exposed Ian’s minor age to the army, and they had thrown him off of the bus with a stern warning to not fraudulently enlist again or he’d be tried and convicted, they had actually talked and decided to stop bullshitting about them being in a ‘real relationship’ not being what they both had wanted for the past two years. Ian fell even more in love with his obnoxious hood rat when he’d seen how sincere and vulnerable Mickey was during that conversation and, yes, the words “I love you and I’m gay” were uttered in that fittingly wind-struck parking lot. That, however, didn’t mean that they could be seen making out in the street. Terry would have them both shot before they would need to come up for air.

“I’m going to kill him!,” Mickey practically growled out the threat with sprawled hands, and stormed back through the women’s pen.

Threatening/actually beating Ian’s other lays was just what Mickey did. He’d never tell Ian of the dreams he’s had of Roger Spiky still being in town just so he could cut off his big dick ever since Ian told him whom his first was.

“… How long?”. Mandy wasn’t sure why she was smiling. She was actually pretty pissed that her brother never told her that he’s gay and nor had her best friend told her he’s been fucking him. Looking back, it was really obvious, and maybe that’s why she held the smirk with the redhead’s answer.

“Long enough for you to be jealous,” Ian supplied with his reputable shit-eating grin, and then chased after his not-sorta’ boyfriend.

No amount of rational summation or persuasion detoured Mickey from slamming on the gas as he headed to the Gallaghers’. He’d met the smart-ass, flirty, douchebag there a few weeks prior because, as Fuckface’s cousin who was debating whether or not to drop out of college, he was crashing with them. Ian turned him down flat when he’d suggested that all of the bunker sex he’d been planned on having in army was now saved up for him. With a sly, yet some how sweet, smile towards Mickey, he had said “My focus now lays elsewhere,” and that had put the ever-jealous, black-haired, boy at ease … until now. Ian now began regretting being thankful that he’d managed to slip in to passenger seat of Mickey’s car before it sped away from where the female Milkovich was serving time - not even “I’ll blow you if you stop the car” worked (namely because Mickey knew that Ian secretly actually liked giving him head almost more than he liked receiving it, and gave him a look that said as much) – and the way in which Mickey was steering around the rapid city traffic made him worry that they’d be crunched before getting any where.

When they did arrive at the shacky townhouse packed with too many self-raised American-Irish Southside kids for most other demographics to handle for any real length of time, Mickey shot his damned short legs around the car and pounded up the steps before slapping open the storm door and sharply yelling “Oh Cousin Prettyboy!,” while Ian sighed, reached to collect the keys from the ignition, and shook his head as he followed Mickey in to his house.

“Mickey ...”. By now, Ian had resounded himself to this happening, but felt the need to put up some of a show so his family didn’t think that he was a total asshole.

Mickey was already upstairs, locating the twittyfuck, and was dragging him down and towards the door, with only a “Hello, Dickhead!,” and a punch near the left eye, as greeting-and-explanation.

Ian continued to shake his head as he shadowed them in to the street trying to suppress his strange, yet remarkably frequent, feeling of pride. A jealous Mickey was definitely better than no Mickey at all.

_What the--? Why is Dirty White Boy always here now? He’ll start giving me a run for my money soon._

Veronica Fisher followed the three boys out with the ironically matching-in-skin Gallagher on her hip and Carl and Debbie close behind.

As he tried, in vain, to swipe blood from his cheek with Mickey still latched on to his arm, Chris asked “And what did I ever do to you?!”.

Mickey gritted his teeth and arrowed his head toward Ian. “He fucked you!”.

Chris threw the compacted mass of muscle a twisted scowl that basically said that didn’t answer his question.

Honestly, Ian had only done it because Chris kept begging for it and looked exactly like the menacingly hot, yet sympathetic, stalking psycho with pale skin and dark hair from ”Teen Wolf” (okay, so maybe Ian was developing a type, but Mickey couldn’t more of it and was more the cause than the reward), and it was during the hour in which the guy he loves was supposed to be marrying some woman. He probably wouldn’t have had he known that, in reality, Mickey was telling his father that real men didn’t marry prostitutes, telling her to get her umpteenth abortion, and running straight to the recruitment office to report him. That hot ass wasn’t going to be bleeding on desert sand when he could be properly admiring it when ever it wasn’t not in-view because its owner was close enough that he couldn’t see it

“He’s mine! I lov--,” Mickey spat in response, and Ian just couldn’t hide his smile any longer.

It was V whom interrupted him as she secured the too-cute toddler around her and moved a questioning hand through the air in front of her with her unoccupied arm. “Whoa! … Yours?”.

“Yes, mine!,” Mickey was talking to Prettyboy, instead of the eldest Gallagher’s best friend whom had asked the last question as he dropkicked the little asshole whom thought that he could take what had belonged to him.

Mickey and Chris actually worked well together in the sense that their bantering didn’t falter as one continued to kick the other once the other hit the ground, one was getting the crap kicked out of his guts, and while their spectators interjected questions and comments grew in numbers (Jimmy coming home his shift at the coffee shop, Fiona coming out from being in the bathroom when the couple had hurricaned in, and Lip and Karen walking up from being at … wherever, probably screwing each other’s brains out, despite a neck brace still being around Karen’s neck).

“… Cous, why is a Milkovich beating the shit out of you?,” Jimmy wondered out loud as he tossed his car keys in to his other hand. Beto could be seen singing in his car across the street if any one knew to look. They never went to Michigan. Estephania would not live in some where so boring, and, in a surreal instance of momentary profound enlightenment, she told him – in her heavy accent - ”You can be in love with a job, but it can’t be in love with you,” and then made him fuck her. So, he stayed with Fiona, and started over at Northwestern.

Him and Lip did snag a few more cars to pay for Debbie’s braces. Fiona would’ve focused more on the bad of that if Debs didn’t smile a lot more now.

“Because Ian fucked me”.

“Why—“.

“Mine!”

“He’s a top. Don’t you mean you’re his?”.

“And you’re not! The one, and only, Mickey”.

“Third person?," Chris craned his head to look at Ian, “you said he wasn’t a loser!”.

Mickey’s eyes shot to Ian, “You talked about me?,” more than marginally lauded that Ian was apparently talking him up to guys trying to get with him.

“Oh, yeah, he talked about you all the time when we were SCREWING!,” Chris laughed out as he rolled on to his back and lifted his head towards Mickey, regaining his attention and earning himself an extra kick.

“Maybe because he loves me!”. This was still some thing that Mickey was trying to convince himself of.

“That why you called off your wedding, Dirty Milk?,” V asked while wrapping both arms around Liam.

“Yup. That, and I love him,” Mickey said with more ownership over the words than any other thing he’s ever said.

Debbie said “Aww!,” while Carl said “Bleh!,” and Fiona came out and took her youngest brother from Veronica.

“I go to the bathroom and miss THIS?! When did this happen?”.

Ian leaned in towards his older sister and said quietly and plainly “Two years ago” with out taking his eyes off of Mickey.

“You’ve with been sneakin’ around with a Milkovich for two years? What about Jimmy’s dad? … And cousin?”. Fiona turned to look pitifully at Chris.

“Yeah, … you’ve had THAT dick for two years, why was every queer in my family able to get it? I would’ve held on to it!”. Chris threw in a daring look at Ian and that’s when Mickey completely lost it.

Lip strolled up to the house with an arm around Karen to happen upon Mickey wailing on St—Jimmy’s cousin.

“Finally”.

“Mine! He’s mine! Ian loves ME! Belongs with me! MINE! I love him!”.

“Mickey’s gay?”.

“Yup”.

“Hmm”.

_So much for still being in to me._

“So he kept telling me as he beat his cock in to me and you were supposed to be marrying some one else! … You actually make a pretty good pair”.

Ian blushed for both reasons.

_So he has seen the show._

“You like to have guys beat you?! You fucking queerbo dipshit! I’ll show you it’s no fucking laughing matter!”.

Ian winced for a reason no one else but Lip would understand, and that would be when Terry conveniently came walking down their street at random, and started cheering.

“That’s it, son, beat the faggot to death!”. The aging Milkovich – with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and cigarette in the other – picked up his pace as he crossed towards the ‘fight’. He was too riled up to see Ian snap. He was too drunk to feel Ian come up behind him and take the gun that he always kept in the back of his pants and place the barrel to one side of his gray-covered head. He was too startled by the last five seconds to know how to fire back at the next five words before the gun went off and his sick and pathetic life was over.

“He’s doing it for me”. The thunderous noise at close-range, and the finality of the moment, turned every thing in to slow-motion, so Ian had time to contemplate if he’d said them about, or for, Mickey, and it came down to not giving a shit either way because Mickey had stopped kicking Chris and was smiling at him as if he’d never smiled before. The festering regret for not doing what he’d just done when he had the first chance on that painfully unforgettable morning a few months ago left Ian in a breath: Terry’s last.

The world sped back up as Mickey stepped towards Ian – Mickey having to step over his dead father, and the smashed bottle, in the street actually not ruining the moment (they were looking at only each other’s faces) – and Mickey could not insert meditative thought in to his head when natural desire was so strong. He kissed Ian with a freedom and valiancy he hadn’t known he was capable of showing off.

However, it was still him whom pulled back first, and sheepishly looked down at the ground. To commend his newfound growth, though, this was only because he remembered the vague concept of consequences as one of the random noises in the constant sounds of the city around them was that of sirens.

“Shit! You are not going to jail for me!”.

Ian considered making note of the fact that it’d be only fair, but, instead, he wordlessly discarded the remaining bullets from the gun, wiped it thoroughly with the base of his shirt, reloaded the bullets through it, and placed it in one of Terry’s limp hands the same way. He then belted “Does ANY one give a shit that Terry Milkovich is dead?!” as loud as he could in to the neighborhood and, when he rightfully got no response other than his loved ones collectively, and decidedly, horizontally nodding, Beto and Chris shrugging, and Karen scoffing, he turned towards his little sister.

“Debbie, call the cops, and tell them there’s been a suicide”. He broadened his eye-line so every one got what he’s saying. “Shithead killed himself because he saw Mickey and me kissing”.

He wasn’t halted as he went inside, took off his clothes for burning, and took a shower to get rid of the rest of the gunshot residue.

The next day, Mickey was gone, and no one was upset by this – not even Ian – except for perhaps Mickey himself.

He, whom now had nowhere else to live, because, while his brothers weren’t going to kill him for being gay, they also weren’t going to let him live in their father’s house and so duffeled his six changes of clothes to underneath the bed he’d slept in the night in between (Ian’s), had received special permission to visit Mandy on a non-visitor’s day to inform her of the happy news (and reluctantly indulge her inquiries about how her former became his current-and-future).

It actually hadn’t been too weird with Chris sleeping on the floor of the boy’s room (Frank had seized his spot on the couch downstairs) … until he had to be that annoying kid you didn’t want at a sleepover and start talking. “I really do envy you, Dickweed, you make him happy AND crazy. I want love like that”.

“Shut up!,” the gay boyfriends clamored in perfect unison, and found more comfort in wrapping around each other tighter as the house fell finally silent until morning.

Jimmy, Ian, and Carl sat alone together in the Gallagher/Lishman/Milkovich kitchen much like they had months prior on a day when it was deemed Milkovich for two other reasons and Lishman for one less and had a similar conversation to the one that had then.

“A Milkovich?! You could’ve had my dad! He’s a doctor you know! … Or, my cousin, whom is going to law school once he’s – you know - … healed,” Jimmy ranted, and continued to rant. “I’m not thinking about your fist up my cousin’s ass. I’m really not”.

“GEEZus! Are you obsessed?”.

“… Does it stay that stretched out, or—No, sorry, I did not just ask that”.

Ian got up, patted Jimmy on a shoulder, and went to get dressed for school after saying “I’d say ‘you’ll traumatize the kid,’ but …” and shrugging towards Carl.

“… Does the other guy help him tighten it back up?”.

“THAT HAS to be a gay thing,” Carl never took any thing Jimmy said at face value again (rightfully so), and followed his older brother.

Sixteen years have frenziedly slipped by since, and the new Lishman/Gallagher mansion on the north side of Chicago (Jimmy did get that doctor coin now) is seething with holiday flagrancy and drunkenness. They had moved not become different people.

Children from all six siblings, except Carl (whom, with all of his questions, had actually learned a lot of things and one was to always wear a condom unless ‘you really loved them, knew that they were clean, and wanted a kid if they’re a girl’), played together around a fucking huge White Pine tree. His older siblings found it bitter-sweetly strange that, despite being the most untouched by their past hardships and waywardness, Liam was the only one to be unequivocally involved in a teen pregnancy, but the girls at his school just couldn’t keep off of him, and he is great with Nunah (whom is currently giggling on his lap) and is there for Noelle (whom is sitting next to him) when ever she needs him regardless of them no longer being a couple.

Mandy laughs as her daughter, Trina, kisses Actual Steve on the cheek.  “Gallaghers and Milkovichs: for ever intertwined!,” she blithers as she slugs an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders, only to have him shrug the arm off.

"He’s a Lishman not a Gallagher”. He did so not find the humor in his son potentially linked in the romantic sense with some one whom had a Milkovich for a mother and definitely not his cousin.

Fiona gives her husband a snarl, which clearly translates to “Like hell MY KID isn’t a Gallagher!,” but lets the comment slide otherwise.

“Trina, what did Daddy tell you about kissing your cousin, hmm? This family already has too many pseudo-incestuous issues,” Lip tries to scold (ignoring that he could give a similar glare to his sister’s to his wife), but Mickey is too loud over him.

Mandy and Lip got back together after the following things happened. She realized that she could put her passion to see him succeed in to herself, graduated high school via the prison, and attended law school the same way before her sentence was completed. She got a job as an Associate at a law firm in Boston looking to diversify their employee portfolio. She, having to then wear office attire, just looked increasingly sexier her as independence progressed. He got entirely fed up with Karen’s shit, leaving her on the street after kicking her out of the Pot Cream truck one day, and never looked back. He fled to M.I.T. He looked up, while on a bar trip to the city, to see her walking around in a business suit and finally learned to appreciate her. She found the pleasures of making him work for it. … It was only a matter of time before she made him marry her and knock her up with a couple of kids … when the fit in to her career path. Their tale, more than the rest (except for maybe Debbie’s), proved that the Gallaghers could really be with only two kinds of people: Milkovichs/Jacksons whom could understand their roughness and sprightliness thanks to their mutually shitty childhoods or the Lishmans of the world whom could take care of them with their ‘good breeding’ and entrepreneurial sense.

“Lishman? You WANT him to be a p—,“ Mickey begins to bellow, but is stopped by a kick in the shins by one of the three people he’d never retaliate against because they could all kill him and that made him unabashedly proud.

Debbie pointedly ignores him, whilst Mandy groans and sneers at her brother, and remains playing with a bunch of other redheads at the coffee table.

“Babe, you need to learn to let it go, it’s been almost twenty years,” Ian chides his husband (yes, they did ‘gay shit’ now, like get married, and, yet, would still tell you to fuck off if you made a big deal about it) with out looking up from trying to assemble a present one of the kids had received. “Besides, if it weren’t for your JEALOUSY over Lloyd … I mean Ned, you wouldn’t have kissed me when you fucking finally did and, if it weren’t for your jealousy over Chris,” he can almost feel Chris coil with embarrassment, “we would never have been free of …”. ‘Your father’ hung silently in the air in the room.

It turned out that Chris Lishman isn’t gay, but bisexual with a thing for redheads, and, as many could asset to, if you spend enough time with the Gallaghers, you’re bound to fall in love with one, so, when Debbie was nineteen, he finally asked her out. Eventually, yet actually not really long after that, they got married and Debbie got to have all of kids she could ever want and the riches and kindness she had always deserved. Chris really does love Debbie and their five kids because they’re making him both happy and crazy.

Once Lip and Mandy moved back to Illinois, Chris and Mandy started their own law firm, and were very good at getting yuppies locked up for embezzlement (and mobsters off on laundering charges). Mickey and Jimmy would’ve bet that they teamed up and used Mandy’s maiden name in the letterhead just to piss them off, and they’d be right, but were too proud of Milkovich & Lishman’s success to outright complain.

“See, Mick, I did good”. Chris tries to get him to toast with him across the large room. “Your perfect and bad-ass family would’ve never happened with out me”.

As the former-Southside-bad-boy-turned-famous-New-York-artist looks at Ian (whom now works for NCIS: New York which is, Mickey is relieved to know, not nearly as dangerous as TV would suggest), Katelyn (eight and already stunning with beautiful auburn curls and a bitchy persona), and Shaun (six, rounding seven, and jet-black hair rounding his suitably sweet-and-innocent-looking head), he realizes that ‘shit, he might be right,’ but then remembers his dad’s crappy health and uncanny ability to make enemies, and knows that he and Firecrotch would’ve had the rest of their lives for other chances to get it right and be free.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that I referred to Jimmy as one of Ian's loved ones. Forgive me?


End file.
